


Bloodguilt

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Series: The Pacemakers [9]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Apologies, Caring, Explanations, Hospitalization, Hunters & Hunting, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Violence, Injury Recovery, Late Night Conversations, Major Character Injury, Medical Trauma, Pace-Mates, Pack Family, Pre-Earth Transformers, Protectiveness, Revenge, Running Away, Self Confidence Issues, Soul-Searching, Unresolved Emotional Tension, ominous ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-09-25 02:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9799619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: Among Minibots, it's traditional that a group of five or six will form a "pace", adopting each other as kin and swearing an oath to remain that way as long as they're functioning.Under the best of circumstances, Brawn and his household have never been the most forgiving of mechs when a wrong has been done...When someone they care about gets hurt, even less so.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Pace - A company or herd of mules; in my headcanon, a family of Minibots; also a traditional expectation and an honor among Minibots who form one.
> 
> One - the first Minibot to agree to join the proposer's pace; Sequein - the second to agree to join; Trilitare - the third to agree to join; Quanidre - the fourth to agree to join; Quiendus - the fifth to agree to join.
> 
> Culumexian - the form of Cybertronian spoken by residents of Culumex, the Minibot city on Cybertron, or the residents themselves.

It was so unusual for Cliffjumper’s comm. link to ring in the middle of the night that he nearly slammed his fist on it instead of picking it up.

“What?” he grumbled roughly, hoping it sounded irritated rather than groggy, but he was fast in recharge just a few kliks ago.

“Hey, CJ…it’s me.”

“What is it, Bee?”

“I kind of need someone to come and get me,” Bumblebee admitted, sounding tinny and faraway. “I don’t have enough credits for the next transport.”

Cliffjumper sighed, sitting up and swinging his legs over the berth. Now that he was in his third frame, Bee had insisted that he should be allowed the freedoms that went with it; he had taken to staying out late, usually in Nexus. It was a far walk, so it wasn’t unheard of for Bee to get a transport back home to Epistemus, but not _this_ late.

“And why’re you calling me instead of Brawn?”

Laughing sheepishly, Bee reminded him, “Well, I thought you would be the only one who would answer your comm. this late. Besides, Brawn doesn’t want—” He paused, hissing an ex-vent through his teeth. “Frag, I’m out of credits now. Cliff, I think I’m near Iridium Avenue and—”

Hearing “Frag” from the youngest pace-mate’s mouth still caught Cliffjumper off-guard, which was why he was belated when he demanded, “Credits? Why are you using a pay-link? Where’s your comm.?” His own beeped three times at him before cutting the call short. Rolling his optics, he trudged to his feet and grabbed enough credits to transport the both of them.

—

After nearly a breem of searching, he found Bee had propped himself up against a pay-link booth in one of the dimmer, emptier areas of Nexus, which was saying a lot given the sector’s light generators and affinity for building wherever there was a space. Cliffjumper transformed, narrowing his optics and spreading his arms out questioningly.

“Well? You made me come all the way out here at three in the morning,” he stated the obvious, getting more irritable by the nanoklik now that he had been in the cold for a while. It was only when the wind picked up that he caught an all-too-distinctive scent, bittersweet and biting. He stiffened where he was, just long enough to do a double-take, and then he was on the ground in front of his pace-mate before he was even aware that he’d moved.

“Bee?” he snapped hurriedly, pressing one hand against Bee’s side and the other against his face, straining to find any air passing through his vents. After a baited minute, he caught it; his pace-mate's ex-vents were shallow and unnaturally cool, but surely there—for now, at least. Up close, the smell of the energon was overwhelming and Bee still hadn't spoken or opened his optics and—and—

 _Frag, frag, frag, no_. Cliff found the wound under Bee’s left arm—something from a vibroblade, he hazarded. For any other Culumexian, it would have been a minor injury, but Bee’s weak spark easily doubled the risk.

“Don’t you die,” he hissed, ex-venting heavily to stifle the panic and rage. “Don’t you _dare_ , Bee, d’you hear me? C’mon, give me a sign here. Just—don’t die.”

Finally, after seemed like two eternities, Bee’s optics cracked open, sputtering and pale, and if Cliffjumper didn’t want to kill someone for this, he would have laughed in his relief.

“Hey, you—you’re gonna be fine,” he told him fiercely, looking him up and down and wondering if he should readjust him. After another klik he twisted around so he was at Bumblebee’s side, wrapping an arm around him and shivering through a fresh lurch of fear at how _cold_ he was. How long had he been like this? Did someone drop him here or did they leave him to crawl like some mechanimal, trying to find help? Clenching his jaw so tightly that it squeaked, Cliff focused on his anger, using it to anchor himself.

“Hurts,” Bumblebee whispered, speaking for the first time.

“Help’s comin’, buddy,” Cliff told him, tapping his comm. to dial an automatic emergency call. “They’re comin’.” Bee hummed something else, but Cliff couldn’t make it out, so he simply held onto him even more tightly, ignoring how cold and sticky the energon was between their plating.

“I’m gonna kill ’em,” he swore, not caring if Bee disapproved or even if he heard. “I’m gonna kill whoever did this with my bare fraggin’ hands.” With that admission he could feel the rage boiling through the fear, tearing to get out, but he had to keep himself in check.

 _Later_ , he promised himself grimly. Later, he wouldn’t be holding his pace-mate, his adopted little brother. Later he wouldn’t have his hands full, but while he did, he had to keep himself sane and take care of other business. He could already hear sirens in the distance, so with that out of the way, he tapped his comm. link a second time. This second call was going to be a lot harder.

—

It was even worse under the harsh glare of the hospital lights: grayish-black scuffs and scrapes marred the shiny golden plating, marks that were probably a few joors old, but there were crushed dents too, concave and uneven, where welts of energon hadn’t gotten the chance to surface yet.

Brawn stood at the end of the berth, taking it all in, expression coldly impassive—too much so. Cliffjumper only had an inkling of what their leader might be feeling underneath the façade, but it was enough of an inkling that he had opted to stay at a distance of at least two feet. Brawn could be unpredictable when he was in this state and while Cliffjumper was most always prepared and raring for a fight, he was discerning enough to see when it might be unsafe for anyone but Huffer or Gears to approach their leader.  

“Do you know who did this?” Brawn asked in a low voice, glancing in Cliffjumper’s direction with bitterly bright optics.

 _Slag, I wish I could say yes, if only to get that look off his face_. “Not yet.” Shifting minutely in the direction of the door, Cliff added meaningfully, “Windcharger could find out…faster than the police.” He was taking a risk saying that, knowing how badly Brawn had always wanted to maintain as much honor as he could, but at the same time, Brawn knew, all too well, the pain of loss. They all did, and if they had lost Bee tonight…Cliffjumper's thoughts flitted briefly to the chief medic's confession that if he had been just another breem too late, Bumblebee would have been beyond help, beyond _hope_. He swallowed hard under the look Brawn was giving him. Was he thinking the same or was he evaluating the implication Cliff had just made of what he wanted to do?

“If we let Charger find ’em, they won’t be alive long enough to pay like they should,” Brawn reminded him at length, returning his gaze to their youngest. Swallowing a number of protests, Cliffjumper inclined his helm and moved to leave, but Brawn caught his arm on the way and ordered, in a voice too calm _not_ to be dangerous, “Take Gears instead.”

Cliffjumper blinked once, inclined his helm a second time and muttered, “That I can work with.”

—

Gears found them first; he was only that lucky because Cliffjumper sent him west from where he’d found Bumblebee, while he had gone east. They were just a couple of Syk-addicts, grimy and sticky with spilled high-grade. When Cliffjumper caught up to them, he shouldn’t have been surprised by what he found, but he couldn’t help it. They were already cornered and cowering near the back wall of an alley, standing in a large puddle of energon—if it was theirs or someone else’s, Cliff didn’t know.

If it was Bumblebee’s, Cliff didn’t _want_ to know. The smell was already conjuring up mental images of Bee that he never wanted to see again, but they probably wouldn’t entirely go away either.

“Gears,” he began quietly, the unforeseen voice of reason. “Go catch your vents. Let me ask the questions.”

“They—they—” Gears couldn’t seem to complete that sentence, his frame audibly _vibrating_ with rage, as if he was fighting invisible restraints. Never before had Cliffjumper thought of Gears as remotely threatening, at least not when compared to their other pace-mates, but the junkies, whimpering and peering at them past outstretched, shielding hands, clearly had a different opinion of the **sequein**. Fleetingly Cliffjumper decided he was glad he hadn't been here to witness whatever Gears had done to pacify them. Nevertheless he put a tentative hand on Gears' shoulder.

“I know. I know…It's alright. Just let me,” Cliff urged again, trying to use the gentle voice Brawn used on Huffer when he got too upset. Gears’ engine purred another low growl before he obeyed, gesturing erratically at something in the opposite corner before prowling ever so slowly out of sight. Only then did Cliff let his optics focus on what Gears had pointed out: Bumblebee’s belongings, heaped up in some semblance of order but clearly out of place.

Crossing the distance without a word, Cliffjumper crouched, rifling through the damaged, energon-smudged pile. There were several credit sticks, some of which were now empty cartridges, Bee’s datatrax player, comm. link, and a holopic projector. The **quanidre** carefully turned it on, already knowing what he would find. He studied the pace’s smiling faces for a long, calculating minute before subspacing the generator and glancing to his right. Now that Gears was gone, the two junkies had relaxed minutely against the corner wall, one of them even offering him an uncertain wave. Cliffjumper rose to face them, hands twitching into fists.

“Don’t even think you’re safe now,” he warned with an unsettling grin. “I’m much, _much_ worse than he is.”

—

“The street’s a dangerous place,” Huffer remarked out of nowhere. Cliffjumper looked up, startled; he hadn’t heard their One come in, but there he stood nonetheless, Windcharger beside him. “So…if the police find someone beaten nearly to death, I probably shouldn’t think anything of it, right?” Huffer continued, sounding as apathetic as if they were discussing the refueling habits of larger-frames.

“Think whatever you want,” Cliffjumper muttered warily, studying the two of them for any sign of judgment.

“Well, we know you had nothing to do with it,” Windcharger claimed, tilting his helm expectantly. “Cos you were here all night with us…weren’t you?”

“Yeah. That’s right,” Cliffjumper agreed, through a sudden lump in his throat. He flexed his dented fingers lightly and nodded, repeating to himself, “That’s right.” He didn’t look up again until he sensed Windcharger and Huffer trailing out of the room to join Brawn in his efforts…Gears still hadn’t calmed down as much as he needed to.

Bumblebee would probably complain that Cliff and Gears didn’t manage to rescue his comm. link or his datatrax player, but Cliff would buy him a new one. He was just glad he would listen to Bee complain again—not that he would ever admit that. With a sigh, Cliffjumper pulled out the holopic projector, buffing away the smudges of energon as well as he could with his thumbs before setting it on the berthside table and lightly running a hand over Bee’s helm before moving to follow the others. When he was at the door, he heard Bee’s venting shift.

“Cliff?” The red mech paused at his name but didn’t turn and Bumblebee grunted softly in pain before venturing again, “Cliff…I don’t want to know whatever you did. Ever. Okay?”

 _“Of course not,”_ Cliff wanted to say. _“I never want to do that to you. I never would.”_ Eventually he settled for a simple nod.

“And Cliff…um…thanks for sticking up for me.”

“Anytime.” Cliffjumper glanced briefly over his shoulder, in time for Bee to smile slightly and then shutter his optics. He looked as if he hadn’t even moved and Cliff swallowed hard, lowering his optics. _Anytime_ …He could count on one hand the people he would say that to—the people he would _do_ that for. He didn’t plan on losing any of them anytime soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When his pace-mates are around, don't even think about messing with Bee. Just don't even think it. -_-


	2. Chapter 2

“How’s that, Bumblebee? A little more comfortable?” Huffer prompted as he tucked another thermal tarp around the younger mech’s legs.

“Yeah, it’s alright,” Bumblebee assured him, resisting the powerful urge to scowl as he kicked at the awkward folds to untangle them. As he leaned forward to smooth them more comfortably around his knees, he stiffened, vents hitching as his tender side protested. Huffer immediately followed suit, going rigid at the soft noise, and Bee hurriedly assured him, “I’m fine, Huffer, it’s fine…”

“You need to take things slower,” Huffer advised sagely, optics bright with concern as he edged around him and picked up the medical sealant from the nearby nightstand.

“Oh, not again!” Bee complained. “It makes my plating itch!”

“Well, maybe if you hadn’t scratched the first layer off, we wouldn’t need to reapply it,” Huffer countered sternly. Glaring, Bumblebee opened his mouth to protest further when a trill from the front door spared him. Rolling his optics, the One added, “Of course company comes now…Don’t try to get up.”

“As if I could with you hovering,” Bumblebee muttered, earning a sharp look that could instantly induce guilt. “Sorry, sorry…” Huffer held the glower long enough for Bee to hunch his shoulders before setting the sealant off to the side and striding away to answer the door. As soon as his berthroom door slid shut, Bumblebee slumped against his cushions, sighing deeply.

 _Why?_ he wondered again, distractedly cracking each of his knuckles. It was a habit he had when he was deep in thought—something he had picked up from Brawn, most likely, though the pace-leader had stopped doing it as soon as he noticed Bee mimicking him. Remembering that only compounded Bumblebee’s thoughts, forcing him to shake his helm in frustration.

_Why?_

On one of the few precious instances that the entire pace had been out of his hospital room, Bumblebee had impulsively consulted the medic attending to him—who, as it turned out, was the Rescue Bot Siren, the very same medic who had performed his spark transfer many vorns ago. Bumblebee had a sneaking suspicion that Brawn had specifically requested her presence and in a way, it helped ease Bee’s guard down enough that he could blurt the question out.

“Why am I like this?” At Siren’s questioning hum, he had elaborated, fidgeting as best he could without yet another ache surfacing. “Why am I so…small? Why don’t I heal as fast as my pace does?”

“Well, Bumblebee,” Siren began in a thoughtful, controlled tone that told him she was trying to be gentle about it, “From what your sire has told me—”

“Brawn’s my _adoptive_ sire,” Bumblebee corrected quickly, automatically regretting the words when Siren blinked a few times in surprise.

“Alright. From what your adoptive sire has told me, your spark was created under different circumstances than theirs, in a different environment. Circumstances aside, it could very well be something hereditary—something in your coding that gives you a longer healing time than the mechs in Brawn’s pace.”

The explanation had made sense, but it wasn’t reassuring. Bumblebee replayed the conversation over and over in his mind whenever he had an opportunity and since he’d been released from hospital care, he only felt worse about it. The pace was naturally overprotective of him, but it had spun out of control to the point of being stifling.

 _It’s only their way of showing they care_. Bee struggled to remind himself of that whenever Cliffjumper lunged to steady him even when he was already regaining his balance. He forced himself to say a patient “thank you” when Gears set him up with more energon than he could ever drink and Windcharger started wasting magnetism to bring things within his reach. He managed to sit still long enough for Huffer to fuss over his wounds and plastered on an overly-cheerful smile when he lost track of the times Brawn had asked if he was alright.

It was only the natural sequence of events that _right then_ one of his legs would give out—he was low on energy—his fingers just barely brushed the edge of his data pad—the medical sealant cracked again—he woke up shivering at the nightmares of going outside in the dark—and he would validate all of their concerns. None of them seemed to notice how utterly humiliating it was and all he could do was grin and bear it.

 _I’m always the one who needs to be protected…_ he fumed, weaving his thoroughly cracked fingers together tightly. _Why couldn’t I fight off those stupid junkies on my own and actually be_ strong _for once? Cliff had to come to my rescue and I…I just sat there bleeding…all because of my weak spark. It’s not fair!_

“Bee?”

Jerking his helm up at the familiar voice, Bumblebee felt the first real smile in several joors light up his face. “Genre!”

“I finally convinced my carrier to let me visit!” Genre announced cheerfully as he danced further into the room, spreading his arms out invitingly for a hug without expecting Bumblebee to get up and take the offer. “It’s about time, too; hearing what happened to you made her paranoid about letting me out of the house.”

“Oh…sorry…” As he shuffled further back on the berth, Bee winced only partially out of pain and gestured for his Amica Endura to perch on the edge. “Well, it doesn’t _look_ like you got jumped.”

“Of course it doesn’t! I fought them off with my impressive battle skills,” Genre joked, miming a few well-aimed strikes that made Bee laugh lightly. “I got here around the same time as the others—Sir Hightop and Cliffjumper’s creators. They’re outside talking with the pace, so I thought I’d come and see you.”

“Take your time, Genre. They’ll be out there for a while; Hightop will be checking in with Gears and Uncle Skydive and Aunt Overbright are probably just stopping by to make sure Cliffjumper is alright…Heh, they probably feel worse for him, since he and the others have to take such good care of someone like me,” Bumblebee commented despondently, to which Genre raised his eyebrows dubiously.

“Someone…like you? What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked curiously, much to Bee’s chagrin.

“I mean—” He couldn’t find a half-truth fast enough and even if he had, Genre had known him since before he could speak, so he doubted he would be able to get anything past him. “It’s just that…ugh, you know how your carrier used to warn you before you wrestled with me?”

“Yeah, sure. ‘Little Bee is your friend and you need to be careful not to hurt him when you’re having fun,’” Genre quoted from memory, tilting his helm. “What about it?”

“Brawn never used to give me that warning. He let me wrestle however I wanted because he knew I wouldn’t be _able_ to hurt you. He knew I wasn’t strong enough,” Bumblebee admitted, shifting enough for Genre to study the medical sealant swathing the plating underneath his arm. “This is twice the amount of medical sealant someone like you would have needed and it’s not just because Gears couldn’t bring himself to look at it. It’s cos my plating is twice as likely to break and start leaking energon again! It’s cos I’m _fragile_ and I just—all of the others are strong and have amazing augmentations and know how to fight and I can’t do any of it! I hate it!”

Genre stared at him for a long series of kliks, to the point that Bumblebee felt a hot flush through all of his systems as he dropped his arm back to his side and looked down. It was only through the shifting of the berth that he had the foresight to brace himself as Genre moved in and hugged him tightly around the shoulders, making up for the one that had gone by the wayside when he’d first entered.

“Sorry, buddy,” his friend murmured, clearly unsure of what else he could say. Bumblebee sighed, relaxing into the embrace for a klik or two until the plating in his back betrayed him, eventually starting to rattle from the strain of tilting forward for too long. Upon feeling the vibrations, Genre hastily recoiled, oblivious to the way Bee’s spark sank because of it.

Cliffjumper arrived then, calling out, “You got visitors, Bee!” as he escorted Skydive, Overbright, and Hightop into the room, and Bumblebee straightened, pushing a wide smile onto his face by sheer will as they greeted him.

“Oh, hey!” he exclaimed, feigning wonder and delight. “Genre told me you were here to see me. How are you all?”

“How are _we?_ ” Overbright echoed, skirting past her sparkmate to crouch close to Bumblebee’s nightstand. “Oh, we’re just fine, sweetspark! The better question is how _you’re_ doing! Have Cliffy and the others been taking care of you like they should?” Here she cast a pointed glance at Cliffjumper, who was leaning against the left side of the doorframe.

“Definitely. I don’t…don’t know what I’d do without them,” Bee managed with another more hesitant smile.

Unlike the others, he could clearly see Genre frowning at these words as he rose from the edge of the berth and leaned against one of the side walls instead, politely allowing Overbright to take his place. Once seated, she looked Bumblebee up and down in concern, taking one of his hands and squeezing it gently between her own.

“Well, Bumblebee, if I know anything about this house, you’ll be more than comfortable while you’re recovering,” Skydive assured him solemnly, folding his arms loosely as he perched against the side of the doorframe Cliffjumper had left open. That said, Skydive promptly returned to whatever conversation he was previously having with Cliffjumper, albeit in a lower voice.

Bee had already been expecting that; in his experience, Uncle Skydive was a mech of few words when it came to anyone but his immediate family, but seeing him and Cliffjumper, as sire and creation, hold such similar poses and expressions across from each other allowed him a small flash of genuine humor as he turned his attention toward Brawn, Huffer, and Gears’ boss, who was looming behind Overbright.

“Hello, Sir, how are you?”

“I’m very well, thank you,” Hightop replied with a mild smile. “You seem like you’re in pretty good spirits; that’s nice to see. I must say, when I told my pace-mates what happened, they started to worry. Can I tell them you’re doing well?”

“Of course you can,” Bumblebee confirmed with a vigorous nod. “I just said that I’m doing fine! I’m perfectly fine.”

“Are you sure, dear?” Overbright pressed. Stiffening a little, Bumblebee squeezed one of her hands and then withdrew his.

“Yep, I’m sure—I’m a little tired, but otherwise I’m good!”

“Yeah, I guess we should let you rest,” Cliffjumper piped up agreeably. Bumblebee gave him a faintly grateful glance as he leaned more conspicuously back on his berth and Overbright smiled ruefully, rising.

“I’m sorry, I do try to suppress some of my nurturing nature, but somehow it always sneaks back up again,” she confessed.

“It’s nice to see it happening to someone else for a change!” Cliff remarked guiltlessly, earning a sharp glance and an even sharper elbow from his carrier as she moved past him out of sight. Skydive coughed lightly to cover the chuckle that tried to surface, but it was clear in his optics and the way Cliffjumper scowled before nodding emphatically for him to leave too.

“Take care of yourself, Bumblebee,” Hightop urged, lightly squeezing Bee’s shoulder before trailing after them.

Genre hesitated for several more kliks, apprehensive, until Cliffjumper cleared his throat and prompted, “You comin’, Genre? I know Windcharger was hoping to say hi to you.”

“Oh. Um, y-yeah, I’m coming,” Genre concurred, peeking at Bumblebee one more time before he disappeared. Bee hissed through his teeth as soon as Cliff followed, blinking hard against the fresh and painful start of a helm-ache.

_Why does it have to be me?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! After finishing Strain's story, it's really nice to be writing my babs back in Culumex again! <3 Even if a certain one of them isn't doing so well...


	3. Chapter 3

Huffer wasn’t sure what it was that woke him, but he found himself staring up into the void of his berthroom ceiling at an obscene joor in the night, alone with his thoughts. Occasionally he would grumble and try to find recharge again, but no matter how high he counted in Culumexian or how evenly he vented, it wasn’t enough.

 _Stupid insomnia…_ He had gotten better about catching recharge where he could get it over the vorns and it usually wasn’t too difficult to find. Tonight was different somehow. Eventually he kicked off the thermal tarps as the friction of rolling over made him too warm and uncurled onto his back, stretching each of his joints one by one in an attempt to occupy himself.

For a long while afterward, Huffer let his mind wander, listening to the low rumble of Brawn’s systems as he recharged peacefully in the other berth, and then he couldn’t take it any longer and he got up.

He was always struck by how soft and slow the silence was when he emerged from their room on a night like this. Predictably, it struck him again as he glanced around, making out the shapes of the furniture he knew from memory. After a moment or two, he shivered. As opposed to the berthroom, the air in the hallway was chilly as it washed over him, so he shuffled into the living room and snatched up a thermal tarp someone—most likely Windcharger—had left draped over the chair opposite the couch.

As he swung it over his shoulders, he perked up, a few muffled sounds reaching out to his audials from one of the other berthrooms. Cautiously drifting closer, he cracked the door open a few inches. His first thought was that Bumblebee was simply having a strange dream, which pain medication often provided, but his following realization was that their youngest was just as restless as he was. He looked up abruptly when he heard the door, optics ghostly pale and bright in the darkness.

That settled it—Huffer ducked inside, approaching with a sharp whisper. “Are you okay? What is it?”

“Wh-What’re you doing awake?” Bee asked weakly in lieu of an answer.

“I couldn’t recharge,” Huffer brushed that off quickly. “What’s wrong with you?” At Bumblebee’s startled and slighted expression, he winced, belatedly realizing how that could sound from his point of view. He wasn’t sure how to rephrase the question, though, so he kept it at that, looking him up and down critically. “Do you need some more medication?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Well, you should be recharging peacefully if the medication is doing its job—which it clearly isn’t,” Huffer insisted. “You’re not supposed to be waking up in pain; those medics probably messed up again—”

“I’m not in _pain_ , Huffer, I’m fine!” Bumblebee cut him off, wiping his hands jadedly over his optics. “Alright, look, I had a nightmare. It rattled me a little, I guess, but you don’t have to worry. It was just a bad dream. They happen.”

“A nightmare?” Huffer echoed, suspicion already creeping in from the back of his mind. “What…happened in your dream?”

With a laugh and a smile that were entirely forced, Bee shrugged. “Eh, nothing important! That’s what I get for taking my medication without energon; you’ve been telling me constantly not to do that and I—I guess I see why now. It messes with your processor.”

“Well…if you’re sure, then I believe you.” He didn’t in the slightest, but saying it seemed to put Bee more at ease—until Huffer rose, adding as an afterthought, “I guess I should tell Gears to bring you some energon more often, if you didn’t have any to drink when you went into recharge.”

“No! You’ve all done _way_ more than enough, trust me!” When Huffer gave him a look, Bumblebee squirmed and presented another weak smile. “You know how Gears gets when it comes to health and fitness…”

“True.” With nothing else to say in that regard, Huffer leaned over and lifted Bumblebee’s arm at the elbow, tightening his grip when Bee tugged minutely against him, and peered at the wound. “That needs to be cleaned. You’ll need to use the wash-racks again sometime this morning—hopefully before Gears and Cliffjumper wake up and take all of the hot oil.” He had privately hoped Bee would laugh at that, but there wasn’t any such luck, so he cleared his throat awkwardly and waved, taking off his thermal tarp and adding it to the pile on Bumblebee’s berth before he took his leave.

Though he wasn’t one to boast—and others didn’t usually think to ask—Huffer was more observant than most bots realized. Therefore it hadn’t escaped his notice that Bumblebee had become somewhat more withdrawn since he had come home from the hospital.

If Bumblebee had simply needed comfort because of what he had gone through, he would have asked for it instead of resisting their attempts to help. The conversation he’d just had with Bee was starkly different compared to what had happened when he was younger.

If he had a nightmare, as soon as he was tall enough to reach the keypad, the little one would open the door to Brawn and Huffer’s berthroom and fling himself at whoever he felt would protect him better against whatever unseen thing had menaced him that particular night. The resulting yelp from the older mech would inevitably wake up his pace-mate too and then the pair would coax him to calm down before taking him back to his room. They would consult each other and then one of them would stay behind with Bee for the night so he could rest more easily. As he’d matured, he would simply come in, quietly wake up the mech of his choice and then they would go into the living room and talk about it until he felt reassured enough that he could go back to his berth alone.

Despite how often as he was assuring everyone that he was absolutely fine, however, Bumblebee wasn’t bouncing back to his traditional optimism and cheer. Perhaps it wasn’t fair to expect that of him so soon, but Huffer had a feeling he knew what was wrong and _that_ was the problem. It was something he remembered all too well and it wasn’t something so easily dealt with.

 _But by the Allspark, I can still try. I_ have _to try, for his sake_. This thought occupied him for most of the morning as the rest of his pace woke up and went about their business, getting ready for work. As soon as Bumblebee emerged from the washroom, freshly cleaned, Huffer directed him toward the dining room. “C’mere, Bee, and I’ll redress your wound, alright? I think you’ll be happy to hear that you’re ready for synthetic cloth instead of sealant!”

“Nice to finally make a step up,” Bumblebee concurred as he sat across from the One and reluctantly lifted his arm, laying it across his optics. It didn’t look like he had gotten any more recharge last night, just as Huffer hadn’t. He worked in silence for a few minutes, tightening the bandaging against Bee’s side, and then stilled. Bee glanced at him questioningly. “Am I done?”

“Almost. I wanted to talk to you about something.” Bumblebee automatically adopted a warier pose and Huffer sighed. “You’re not in trouble—at least, not with me. In general…well, I wanted to let you know that I know what’s going on. I know how you feel.” Bee’s expression didn’t change, so Huffer went on more quietly. “Your nightmare earlier was about going outside alone and getting attacked, right? I figured. I wanted to let you know that it’s normal—not anything to be worried about—”

“But it _happened!_ ” Bumblebee protested.

“Well, yeah, obviously,” Huffer agreed hurriedly. “I meant you don’t have to be worried about it happening _again_. I don’t want you to feel the way I did when the…the Archive…” Flustered by Bee’s baffled shake of the helm, he ex-vented harshly. “You don’t have to feel that way; we’re not going to let anything happen to you. After I was attacked when the Archive went down, I blew everything out of proportion and started acting skittish and paranoid for no reason. It just made everything worse for me, but more for my pace.”

“…and you think that’s what _I’m_ doing?” Bee pressed, something flashing in his optics so quickly that Huffer almost didn’t catch it before his expression hardened and he flung himself out of his chair. “Then I’m sorry for making everything worse by being afraid for no _possible_ reason!”

“Wait, that—that came out all wrong,” Huffer hissed, cringing as he watched Bumblebee leave the room without looking back.

—

“C’mon, Bee, it wasn’t a big deal!” Windcharger protested as he took in the scene in a cursory glance. “It was just a misunderstanding!”

“Tell that to Gears,” Bumblebee fumed, slapping his data pad onto the growing stack on the table. “Clearly he understood the entire situation and that’s supposed to completely make up for how he handled it.”

“Well, my apologies for sticking up for you if it inconvenienced you,” Gears shot back as he threw himself onto the nearby couch, easily meeting Bumblebee’s accusatory glower with his own.

He had been practicing his for much longer, so it wasn’t long before the younger mech backed down, huffing in frustration as he rose and swept his pads off the table, retreating to his room. Watching him, the way he limped, only stirred Gears’ anger further and he tore his optics away, pinning them on the nearest wall and imagining twin holes burning into its surface.

“Whoa,” Cliffjumper’s voice came from the door, wary and bewildered, as he made his entrance. “This isn’t the kind of scene I usually come home to after work…Somethin’ happen?”

“You could say that,” Windcharger confirmed, giving Gears a pointed look.

“Let’s just say the shopping trip was a total disaster!” Huffer called from the kitchen, sounding more than a little annoyed at no one in particular.

Gears sat up on the couch at that, hollering, “That wasn’t my fault! If that stupid slagger hadn’t messed with him, I never would’ve needed to handle it that way!”

“Wait, wait, wait, I saw you all at the market,” Cliffjumper protested. “It looked like it was going just fine!”

“Oh, yeah? Well, it rolled downhill fast!” Gears countered, flinging himself to his feet just as quickly as he’d sat down. “And since Huffer and Windcharger seem determined to pin it all on me, I’ll tell you the _real_ version of the story! Everything was going fine, we were all having a good time, but I noticed Bee was getting a little antsy being out in the open. He’s been that way ever since—what happened, y’know.”

“I know,” Cliffjumper concurred, optics narrowing. Gears paused, glancing down at his hands and remembering the confrontation with the mechs who had robbed their youngest. After another klik he shoved the memory away and continued.

“Well, I go over to reassure him that nothing’s going to happen, like a good pace-mate should—I knew neither of those two were gonna do it—”

“Hey, I already _tried_ and he didn’t want to hear it from me!” Huffer chimed in again, indignant as he came to stand in the kitchen doorway.

“So I decided to do it _right!_ ” Gears insisted. “But Bee doesn’t see me coming, so I startle him and he drops whatever canister he’d picked up and it gets dented. He’s about to pick it up and pop the dent back out when the stall owner grabs his arm and says he doesn’t want him touching it again!”

“That’s not what he said,” Windcharger scoffed. “He said he would take care of it and Bee didn’t have to bother!”

“Whatever he said, Bumblebee goes as stiff as a wire and starts shaking,” Gears declared, waving away Windcharger’s words and rounding on Cliffjumper expectantly. He of all mechs would understand—he had to! “He was _hurting_ him, so I decided it was my duty to make sure the fragger backed off!”

“Well, yeah,” Cliffjumper agreed sternly. “Maybe you should’ve come and got me; I could’ve _helped_ with that.”

“Gears, you grabbed the stall owner and rattled him all the way to next quintun—by the neck!” Huffer protested, dismayed. “Didn’t you see how humiliated Bee was?!”

“Yeah, but that wasn’t just because of me! Windcharger made a bigger deal out of it than I did with the way he started tearing me off the mech and swearing at me!” Gears growled. “And since when did that grocer earn the right to handle a customer like that? He should’ve treated him with more respect. I mean, Cliff frags off his customers all the time—”

“Not all the time!” Cliffjumper snapped indignantly, going ignored.

“—but he never lays a _finger_ on ’em, does he? He may threaten to, but he never does! As far as I’m concerned, the mech deserved that and more!”

“Gears, did it occur to you that you’re just a little tightly wound right now?” Huffer sighed, shifting his weight onto one hip and looking Gears up and down with resignation. “It’s not as if you’ve used any of your other outlets since you and Cliff dealt with…them.”

“Oh, so I’m tightly wound just because I want Bumblebee to be safe?!” Gears demanded, throwing up his hands. “C’mon, Huffer, even _you_ —”

“I’m gonna stop you there,” Brawn announced his presence sternly as he came and slung an arm over Gears’ shoulders. “I’m not against a scrap, but it’s not like the grocer pulled a shiv on him! In fact, I doubt any of the grocers in the market even know how to use a shiv.”

“I have been thinking about learning the trade,” Cliffjumper remarked thoughtfully, miming a swing or two of a blade.

“Not helping, Cliff,” Windcharger hissed.

“Well, if you all think I’ve overreacted, why don’t _you_ come up with a plan to protect Bee instead of forcing me to do all the work?” Gears grumped, shrugging off Brawn’s arm with an expansive glower at all of the other mechs. “Apparently I should be ashamed of myself for not thinking of another tactic sooner!”

“Alright, alright, calm down or you’ll get all your winches in a twist,” Brawn teased, thumping him on the back hard enough that he stumbled. “As it turns out, CJ and I are already working on it!”

As he recovered his balance, Gears glanced back at him incredulously. It wasn’t often that he heard those two particular names together when it came to strategizing and Windcharger and Huffer’s surprise was just as palpable. “Great,” he deadpanned after a moment of silence. “I can’t wait to hear about this. Judging by the looks on your faces, if my winches aren’t twisted now, I should expect they will be soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gears, Gears, Gears...so very snarky! And meanwhile, Huffer's inability to communicate makes me cringe ^^"


	4. Chapter 4

“Cliffjumper!”

“Oh, hey, Feedback,” Cliff greeted as the Onyx traxcaster dodged past his pace-mates to approach. “Long time no see. You get any business since I last saw you or are you still performing for no one but your pace?”

Snorting, Feedback hopped up onto the tabletop beside him, swinging his legs off its edge and narrowly missing the chance to graze Rusty with one foot as he passed by, deep in his conversation with Brawn. “You’re one to talk. You call stuffing things into packages a reasonable career?”

There was every opportunity for Cliffjumper to be insulted by these words, but he opted to let it slide. He and Feedback had an uncomfortable start to their relationship—as they did with most relationships—but after acknowledging how alike they were, they had come to respect each other’s comebacks.

Feedback was more than willing to fight with him, but once the issue was resolved, by whatever methods they deemed appropriate, they could go on as if nothing had happened. Here was someone to whom Cliffjumper could complain, someone who could handle his lacerating wit

 and sympathize with his plights without blaming them on him, as others tended to.

“It was nice of you all to make the trip,” Cliffjumper remarked, glancing around the room at the pace of eight. He hadn’t seen such a large party here since Bumblebee’s naming ceremony and he couldn’t help feeling a little nostalgic because of it.

“Yeah, well, Mesh wanted to see if Bee had been transferred out of the hospital too soon,” Feedback confessed matter-of-factly. “He worries. Add Polevault needling Rusty, Rusty needling Montage, and here we are.” Gray-blue optics sweeping over the scene, Feedback leaned over and nudged the **quanidre** lightly when he pinpointed Bumblebee a couple feet away. He had his back to them, but the dejected slump to his shoulders was obvious. “How is he anyway? He doesn’t seem very happy, even though he’s already up and about.”

“I’m not sure,” Cliff admitted, frown deepening as he shrugged listlessly. “It’s just takin’ him a while to get back on his feet _emotionally_ , I guess. Y’know how that is.”

“You bet I do,” Feedback concurred pensively, shifting away slightly so he could lift his left arm and gesture with his other hand to a network of old scars down his side. Cliffjumper blinked in disbelief at the burns, opening his mouth to ask a question, and Feedback cut him off before he could. “A fanatic, out of her mind on circuit speeders…She shot me right off the stage. Guess this is my proof that I’ve performed for more than just my pace, right? Fun times…”

Distinctly uncomfortable with this line of conversation, Cliffjumper cleared his throat. “Well, we’re going to do something about it. Brawn and I already have a plan.”

“You want to know what that plan is, Feedback? We’re getting _weapons_ ,” Huffer announced as he materialized in front of them, sounding as though he was struggling to accurately voice his disapproval. “Brawn’s sent an order for blasters, vibroblades…Personally I think it’s ridiculous, not to mention dangerous!”

“At least bots’ll know not to mess with you,” Feedback pointed out practically, to which Cliffjumper nodded approvingly.

“Not dangerous to them,” Huffer sputtered. “Well, it will be, but not as dangerous as it is to _us!_ We don’t know how to use those things; we’re not fighters!”

Overhearing this, Brawn startled his One as he reminded him, “We’ve all had our battles,” and swung his arms over his shoulders from behind, forcing him to sway under the weight. Settled comfortably as the picture of innocence, he purred, “And what you lack in a backstrut, we’ll make up for in arms!”

“Oh, get off!” Huffer complained, straining to no avail, much to the amusement of Cliffjumper and Feedback. Grinning broadly, Brawn finally acquiesced and took a step back, allowing Huffer to round on him as he fumed, “I don’t like it now and I _won’t_ like it any more when the stupid weapons come!” With that oath, he made his exit, dramatically stalking to the kitchen for some energon.

“He’ll come around,” Brawn assured Cliffjumper wryly, patting him on the knee. “We just need to keep harassing him nicely until he does.”

“Whatever you say, Brawn.” As the pace-leader wandered off again, Cliff returned his attention to Feedback. “Before that started, I was hopin’ to ask you…well, I was hopin’ you would ask Spar something for me.”

“Huh! You’re not afraid to ask him yourself, are you?” Feedback quipped, earning an elbow to the side which made him wince. Cliffjumper winced a little too, hurriedly making a mental note to keep the shoving to Feedback’s _right_ side from now on.

“Of course not. I just don’t know him that well, so he’ll be more open to it if it’s coming from you!” he announced, recovering his confidence in kliks. “I wanted to know if he and his Augmenters had a way—or, if not, if they could try _finding_ a way—to augment weaker sparks.”

“You’re asking for Bumblebee?” Cliffjumper jerked a nod and Feedback scoffed lightly. “Spar doesn’t talk much about his work, not even to us, unless he’s doing us a favor with our own augmentations, and he’s been even stranger about it lately. Primus only knows what’s happening in Logos. Still, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to ask. He might like a project like that.”

“Just keep it under the table, would you?” Cliff urged, glancing over at Bee as he turned sharply away from their guests, clearly considering a retreat to his room. “There’s no reason to go spreading it around.”

“Sure thing.”

With that decided, the pair turned their attention to their pace-mates. Most, if not all of them, were discussing Bumblebee’s status, each trying to be discreet, but when all of them were on the same topic, it was natural that someone was going to be noticed.

“Well, have any of you considered getting Bumblebee some therapy?”

Con-Struct was destined to be the mech of interest; as soon as those words came from his mouth, all of the other conversations went quiet. The art teacher froze as soon as he realized how many optics were pinned on him and he met each of them in turn, shrugging self-consciously.

“Uhh…What’s the matter? It’s a reasonable question…”

“Sure, it is,” Gears deadpanned, optics reflecting a tight control that miraculously didn’t show in his voice. “But it is _not_ a reasonable suggestion.”

“Therapy’s something of a taboo in this house,” Cliffjumper explained dryly at Feedback’s questioning glance as the rest of Brawn’s pace promptly returned to their business. “We got more than enough of that when we were trying to win Bee in the first place.”

“Sure, you did…”  Feedback drawled, optics drifting away disbelievingly. Frowning again at the unexplained sarcasm, Cliffjumper folded his hands tightly to resist the urge to elbow his companion a second time. From there, the two of them stayed quiet.

—

It had taken less than a joor for everything to go wrong.

Windcharger had been polishing his vlin, meticulously picking at each groove and rubbing down each nick and scrape that marred its surface. He wasn’t sure when another opportunity would come to use it in a performance, but he intended for it to be in perfect condition when the time came. As he worked, he pondered the afternoon prior. If it hadn’t been a visit for Bumblebee’s health, Windcharger would have gladly put on a performance for Montage and his pace, but as it was…

He and Gears hadn’t spoken much since he had torn the **sequein** away from the grocer he was mauling in the market. The very fact that they were at odds about it made both of them uncomfortable, which made each other’s presence especially uncomfortable, given that they were usually confidants about topics like their pace-mates. Gears had taken to sulking whenever Windcharger tried to broach the subject with him—that or he rolled his optics and ignored him when he tried to address other subjects. It was a lose-lose for both of them and Windcharger couldn’t help but wonder why Gears was taking it so personally.

Maybe it had to do with Con-Struct’s mention of therapy—or if not that, the idea of therapy itself. To Windcharger’s knowledge, and as Huffer had pointed out, Gears didn’t have exactly have a comforting outlet for his frustrations. Windcharger had his music, Cliffjumper had the basketrek courts, Huffer and Brawn had each other, but Gears? The most emotional indulgence he allowed himself were his creators’ letters, which weren’t exactly comforting. Not only that, he hadn’t been quite _right_ since he and Cliffjumper had left to deal with Bumblebee’s attackers.

 _If it had been me, I would’ve been satisfied_ , Windcharger mused as he buffed away the last smear on his vlin. _Gears has only gotten angrier. Fitting of him, I guess…But it’s not exactly helping Bee. Come to think of it, Bee has only gotten angrier too_.

Shaking his helm, Windcharger rose and entered the hallway to return his instrument to his room, only for cold air blindside him from the nearby dining room, leading him to discover that someone had left the cold energon storage open.

“Can’t you ever put anything back the way you found it, Cliffjumper?” he muttered, slamming the door shut. He didn’t have any evidence that Cliff was the culprit, but experience told him it was either him or Gears. Either way, he needed a thermal tarp now, but the one he had left over the chair opposite the couch was nowhere to be found.

There was only one place that could be.

“Bee,” Windcharger called, tapping his knuckles against the doorframe as he entered. “Don’t mind me, I’m just here for my…” He paused, optics narrowing in confusion as he stared at the empty berth. “…thermal tarp.” Rifling through them, he found the one he wanted and tucked it around his shoulders, returning to the living room and dialing the comm. unit.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Genre, it’s Windcharger. I was just wondering if I could talk to Bee. Is he there?”

“What? No, I haven’t seen him since I came over to visit him,” Genre replied, sounding just as bewildered as Windcharger felt. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, he’s just…not where I thought he would be,” Windcharger admitted, trying to keep his voice even. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Contrary to his words, his spark was already starting to race as he strode out of the living room, poking through each area of the house and ignoring the inquisitive looks his pace-mates gave him when he began darting in and out of their berthrooms. By the time he reached the empty basketrek court on the roof, Windcharger’s voice was decidedly less even.

“He’s gone. Genre, he’s _gone_ ; I can’t find him! If he’s not with you, wh-where else would he go?” Windcharger demanded.

“Hang on,” Genre urged hastily, followed by a muffled conversation with his carrier before he returned. “My carrier suggested trying his comm. Can you do that?”

“I would, but it was one of the things that were stolen when all of it first happened! W-We haven’t enlisted for a new one yet,” Windcharger gasped, clenching his optics tightly shut against the panic that lashed through his EM field and his augmentation, the defense mechanism making his hands shake and his own comm. link rattle under the strain of his fingers.

“Charger?” Brawn called sharply as he emerged onto the roof. Whirling around, the **trilitare** swallowed hard, his throat dry.

“I’ll call you back, Genre.”

“Make sure you do!” Genre hollered urgently just before Windcharger hung up.

It had taken less than a joor for everything to go wrong, but their pace was scouring Epistemus and Nexus alike for more than _six_. As soon as they regrouped, Windcharger could see that none of his pace-mates were keeping calm about this; their alarm had only worsened since they’d first split up.

Gears was currently on the line with Hightop, hissing at him in a tone Windcharger had never heard him use with his boss, using words he never would’ve believed he could in his right mind—but none of them were really in their right minds at the moment. Cliffjumper, shaking with helplessness and rage at nothing in particular, was suggesting they call his creators to see if Bee had resorted to taking refuge with them, which naturally sent Huffer into hysterics, given that the only way to Solus was through Alchemist. As soon as he started screeching about how they had raised Bumblebee to know better than to venture there alone, Brawn promptly clamped a hand over the other mech’s mouth to shut him up.

“We need to think about this!” he shouted, making Gears jump where he stood across the way and then impulsively hang up so he could listen. “Bee’s going to go somewhere he knows, and seeing how jumpy he’s been lately, it’s somewhere he’ll feel safe. Where does he go when he wants to feel safe?”

“To _us_ ,” Cliffjumper growled softly, taking a step back when that answer earned a vicious glare from their pace-leader and a muffled squeak from Huffer as his large hand flexed against his face.

“Thanks, Cliffjumper, but that’s _not_ _where he is_ right now,” Brawn snarled back. “Where else?!”

“The Nexus temple!” Windcharger blurted out hoarsely. “When he was little, he was always asking you to take him there! He’d always pitch a fit until you said yes, even though the commute was long!”

“Then we go there!” Brawn commanded, releasing Huffer’s jaw in favor of his arm as he broke into a run and pulled him along.

Windcharger wasn’t sure what they looked like, a pace of five sprinting through the sector like they were on fire, but the passersby must have sensed the frenzied urgency, as most scrambled out of their way as soon as they laid optics on them. The guardsmechs at the temple were a bit less forgiving, promptly barring the entrance from the seemingly possessed mechs. They only managed to keep Cliffjumper at bay with their blades mere millimeters under his chin, until Huffer hurriedly told them their purpose and they were allowed through.

That brief respite was likely what had calmed them down enough to spare Bee from being crushed under the pace-mates’ combined weight as soon as they spotted him, though it didn’t stop Gears from pushing past Windcharger and hollering desperately, “Bumblebee, you _idiot!_ Do you know what you’ve put us through?!”

To their disbelief, Bee gave them only the barest of glances before returning his attention to the mech he was speaking with. At a brief motion from Brawn, the pace gradually slowed, filing to a stop in front of the priest in question.

“Well, well. I suspect you’ve been looking for this one for a while,” the priest supplied, to which Brawn nodded hurriedly but humbly.

“Yes, sir…We finally thought he might come here; it’s—it’s always been comforting to him, ever since he was little, and I’m sorry to say it took us some time to remember,” he admitted, only to realize he was rambling to a degree and snap his mouth shut, shuffling his feet nervously.

“Well, clearly you had the right idea,” the priest replied with a slight smile, placing a hand on Bumblebee’s shoulder. “You’re the pace-leader, I presume?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, there are a few things this lad needs to tell you.”

Taking that as permission, Bumblebee fidgeted, ex-vented harshly and then burst out, “I’m sorry I left. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea, but…I needed to get away for a while.”

“Get away from what?!” Gears interrupted, causing Bee to cringe a little. “I thought we were taking care of you!”

“Gears,” Windcharger hushed him with a light swat and a pointed look. “Let him talk.”

“You have been,” Bee sighed, shoulders slumping. “You’ve been taking really good care of me…too good, actually, better than I deserve. All of these injuries just showed me what I needed to see: you don’t believe in me.” At the instinctive gasps that instigated, he waved his hands, frustrated. “No, no, that’s not an insult. It’s not even a bad thing. I know there are reasons why you can’t believe in me—why you shouldn’t. You’ll always think of me as the sparkling in the house, the one who’s always needed protecting. That’s why you haven’t made me **quiendus** yet; it’s because of your sense of honor, because of your _standards_ and I—”

He faltered, seeming a bit relieved when none of them interrupted, but the relief visibly left his face when he saw that was only because of how speechless they were. “That’s why I left. I know I can’t return the favor; I can’t protect any of you guys and I don’t meet your standards. That’s…that’s okay. But I wish you had just told me that honestly instead of trying to make up for it in other ways, by keeping me around without a definite answer.”

When the next pause dragged for a few kliks, allowing for a response, Brawn stammered a little in disbelief. “W-What are you saying? Do you think I’m just keeping you around because I feel obligated to? You—you think I would just leave you like your carrier did?” Bumblebee flinched at the reference and Brawn hissed, as if physically pained. “It’s not—Primus, Bee, it’s not like that!”

“How long have you been feeling like this?” Huffer whispered, mostly to himself than to Bee. “Primus, has it been since we _first mentioned_ the ranks of a pace? Is that it?! I’m sorry! I should’ve seen it a long time ago, I should’ve been able to help! How could I have been so stupid? How could I have missed something like this?! You’ve been—this is so much worse than I thought!”

“Does this have to do with what I did in the market?” Gears asked, aghast. “Alright, alright, maybe I did overreact, just like you said! I know I can get a little on edge sometimes when it comes to you but that doesn’t mean I don’t believe in you! Okay, m-maybe I shouldn’t have been so hard, maybe I was too pushy—”

“Wait—” Windcharger began, wavering as he glanced hurriedly between the three as they spoke over each other, trying to decide which one to shush first. “Hey, we need to just calm down and let—This won’t help with any—I think you’re being a little—C-Can we stop for a minute here and—”

“No, no, shut up, all of you! _Shut up!_ ” Cliffjumper barked, silencing them better than Windcharger could have as he spun around to face Bumblebee, spreading his hands out indignantly. “Listen to me! We’ve done nothing wrong; all we’ve ever done is be there for you because like it or not, you _need_ to be taken care of! That’s not gonna change, no matter if you’re the ‘sparkling’ in the family or the **quiendus**. Oh, and by the way, you’re _both!_ That’s why we treat you the way we do, Bee: it’s our job as pace-mates to take care of each other. That’s never going to change either.”

“But how was I supposed to know?!” Bumblebee countered incredulously. “I’ve never had a formal ceremony!”

“What?! Is _that_ what this is about? You don’t think you’re a member of the pace?”

“I’m not!”

“And you think that’s because _we_ don’t think you’re worthy to join us?” At Bumblebee’s miserable, fatalistic shrug, Brawn pinched his olfactory sensor and sighed deeply. “Maybe I’ve been careless, then. The only reason I’ve waited to indict you is because we wanted to see if you would find another pace, other mates you wanted to join. Maybe Genre? We couldn’t be sure, and we didn’t want to put pressure on you by asking.”

Speechless, Bumblebee huffed faintly and looked away for a few kliks as he processed that. When he could speak again, he shook his helm violently and exclaimed, “That’s _all?_ That’s all it’s been, all this time?! Genre’s my best friend, but you all are my family! You could’ve asked and I would’ve had my answer for you a _long_ time ago: I don’t want to be with anyone else!”

“Well, is there anything to stop you from doing it here? Now?”

The pace startled, each reeling around as the priest calmly reminded them of his presence. The suggestion he posed was one that never would have occurred to them, not even Bumblebee. Windcharger, along with the rest of them, glanced at Brawn, who squared his shoulders but looked distinctly uneasy.

“Uhh…Isn’t that a privilege for higher castes?”

The priest’s answering smile was mildly rueful, as if it was a question he had heard before. “There are no castes in the gaze of Primus, **cyig’kote**.”

With a tentative ex-vent, Brawn admitted, “We—We’d be honored.”

“No…” Bumblebee ventured, adding an apologetic glance to the priest, whose smile had already widened knowingly. “I appreciate the offer, but…I feel like I’ve already spent too long away from home. Can we have it there?”

Brawn’s relief at that request was evident. Skirting past the others, he enveloped the younger mech in a tight hug—the first Bumblebee had truly accepted since he got out of the hospital. “Sure,” he murmured warmly. “Whatever you want, buddy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moral of this chapter?  
>  _This entire pace is emotionally insane._ ;w;  
>  But they love each other to the end and, somehow, that's enough. <3


	5. Epilogue

Brawn looked on with a broad smile, every nervecircuit in his frame tingling with anticipation. He had sorely underestimated the excitement he would feel during this moment. He had expected this to feel like the end of an era, something that would be almost nostalgic, but upon looking back now, that thought seemed almost stupid. He glanced around at his pace, weighing each of their reactions.

Huffer, standing across from him, could barely keep still, shifting in every possible direction like he didn’t know what to do with himself, looking to the others for support. Gears definitely wasn’t the one to offer it to him; predictably, he was acting indifferent and playing down everything about this occasion; the biggest enthusiasm he gave off was a pair of raised eyebrows.

Windcharger, like Huffer, was fidgeting restlessly, tapping his feet, folding and unfolding his arms and occasionally leaning in with a vaguely impatient look on his face. Cliffjumper was grinning like he did whenever he got a serving of chrome cakes in a restaurant—no, even brighter—and occasionally laughing under his vents, almost _sinisterly_ eager.

Bumblebee looked tentative, trying for his best hopeful smile but clearly trying not to let his armor rattle too loudly. He squared his shoulders, looked down and mustered the question of the joor:

“Should we…split ’em up between us now?”

“Bumblebee, you read my mind!” Cliffjumper whooped, picking up one of the largest blasters in the newly delivered crate and swinging it up and around to examine it from every angle, whistling appreciatively. “Well, well, well, what’ve we got here? This little beauty is gonna end up being my favorite, mark my words.”

“I can feel my winches tightening with every one of those words I’m marking,” Gears huffed, snatching up a much smaller blaster and weighing it critically in his hand. “These definitely aren’t from Micronus; my home sector makes lighter hardware, easier on the hands _and_ the optics!”

“We didn’t get these for the commercialism,” Windcharger shot back, holding a long, narrow rifle close to his chest so Cliffjumper couldn’t steal it while he peered at everything else inside, optics narrowing uncertainly.

“He’s right,” Huffer snapped, casting a pointed look at Brawn. “Just what _did_ we get these for, hmm?”

“What d’you think? Protection,” Brawn replied sternly as he testingly swung the handle of a deactivated vibroblade. “That’s all, so you better put that safety back on, Cliffjumper, before you—”

The pace-leader spoke too late, though it was, in fact, Cliffjumper himself who had to duck as laser-fire flew past him. “What’re you tryin’ to do, take my helm off?!” Cliff demanded angrily. Bumblebee swallowed uncomfortably, gently placing his smoking blaster on the floor and lifting his hands placatingly.

“You see?!” Huffer cried, gesturing wildly at them as Cliffjumper gingerly got back to his feet. “This is exactly what I’m worried about! We have no training with guns and swords; we’re not gladiators or Logos mechs! And what is it we have to fight, anyway?!”

“This is our pace you’re talking about, Huffer,” Gears reminded him. “If you remember, not everyone likes us. Let me see: NET doesn’t like us, the Underground doesn’t like us, citizens don’t like us, the police don’t like us…”

“It’s not like we’re going to be signing up for any arenas,” Brawn laughed. “Although it would be fun to put these to the test—”

“Brawn!”

“Alright, alright, _relax_. We just want to be prepared in case anyone decides to mess with us. We’ll probably never need to use them anyway!”

“There’re a few customers I could name who might need a bit of a scare,” Cliffjumper remarked wryly, lightly running his fingers up and down what already was proving to be his favorite blaster.

“If you keep petting that, you’re going to wear down the barrel,” Gears snorted derisively, promptly instigating an argument.

Sighing fondly and resigning himself to the noise, Brawn turned his attention to the mech who was now officially his **quiendus**. Bumblebee was watching and nodding attentively as Windcharger showed him how to reset the blaster he’d fired. The fact that Windcharger already knew how to use the weapons, since he’d spent so long with Incinerator and his pace, would most likely be invaluable when it came to training with them.

That said, why did Windcharger look so nervous? Frowning slightly, Brawn watched as Windcharger left Bumblebee with the product and returned to the crate, lifting weapons out of the crate one by one, inspecting each and then setting them aside, shaking his helm. Struck with an odd realization, Brawn opened his mouth to call him over and ask what was wrong, but Huffer nudged him at that point, asking him to go and separate Gears and Cliffjumper, who were now bickering over one of the finer blades.

It wasn’t long afterward, when they were preparing energon for the evening, that Brawn offhandedly mentioned Windcharger’s reaction to his One.

“Well, you know how I feel about them!” Huffer grumbled, sliding Windcharger’s energon cube over to him with more force than was strictly necessary.

“I know, I know,” Brawn sighed, catching it before it could tip off the counter. “But Windcharger wasn’t that kind of nervous. He looked like he was wondering…” He faltered, considering how to phrase it.

The pause made Huffer look up, tilting his head in puzzlement. “What? Whether or not it was too much?”

“No.” Brawn poured energon for Cliffjumper, stirring it for a few kliks before he concluded pensively, “Whether or not it was enough. Enough to protect us.”

“What?” Huffer stammered in concern as he peeked down at the blaster awkwardly secured to his hip. “W-Why wouldn’t it be enough? And—wait, protect us from _what?_ ”

“I don’t know, but I don’t think it’s—” Brawn jumped then as his elbow brushed Windcharger’s energon cube, knocking it off the counter with a shattering crash. Huffer leapt back as the cybre-glass flew and the energon splattered, groaning in annoyance.

“That was one of our last high-grade cubes, Brawn!”

“Sorry, sorry.” Kicking the shards into a neater pile next to the growing puddle, Brawn tried to shake the unease out of his mind with a laugh. “Ohh, don’t cry over spilled energon, little One.”

“Well, I hope that’s the only spilled energon we see for a long time!” Huffer exclaimed as he strode out of the kitchen for the cold energon storage. “We can’t afford it.”

“Right…” Brawn mumbled, crouching and examining the mess thoughtfully. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen next time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If only they knew...
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed "Bloodguilt"; it's been one of my shorter stories, but totally worth it! Lots of love to those who commented; you always make my day! <3
> 
> Keep a close watch, readers; night is falling fast...


End file.
